


I saw him standing there (he was an Android)

by PlantHands



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff and Smut, Hank and Connor are also good dads, Hank and Connor are husbands, M/M, Sexual Roleplay, Sickfic, That's a lie there's more I want to say, They just wanted a weekend to themselves, Yeah that's literally it I've said my piece, anniversary sex, human!AU, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-15 21:19:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16071554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlantHands/pseuds/PlantHands
Summary: Hank surges up to meet Connor like a tidal wave, “You little shit! I don’t know what’s stopping me from fucking you up.”“Nothing.” Connor gasps. He clings to Hanks chest for dear life, wants Hank to fuck him up.//Or, Cole is staying at a friend’s for the weekend so Hank and Connor decide to try spicing up their sex life while they have the house to themselves. To varying degrees of success.





	1. A game that two can play

**Author's Note:**

> Look at me, back at it again with another Thing(tm)

Saturday night at Jimmy’s bar is a hive of activity.   
Ruckus customers are sloshing their drinks at the game (Dallas Cowboys versus New England Patriots), laughing, cheering, all far to wrapped up in themselves to pay attention to him. In the doorway where he stands, clinging to the _‘Good luck’_ his driver called out the window of the cab after Connor told him that he was on his way to a capital-A _Anniversary Date_.

Connor hesitates, fidgeting with the sleeve of his dress shirt as he looks around the faces crowding the tables. There’s a lot— _a lot_ of people. It makes his gut twist nervously.   
He relaxes a little when he spots the back of Hank’s head at a booth, illuminated by the seedy yellow lights shining down on him. Hair pulled into a messy bun, still sporting full DPD uniform. He’s sipping a whiskey and tapping the heel of his tactical boots against the leg of his chair.

He looks _hot_.

Connor runs a hand through his meticulously styled hair but there’s that one lock that just won’t cooperate— still, he hopes Hank thinks he looks as good as he does him— and starts across the floor, weaving around the bodies crowding the bar. He makes a beeline for Hank. 

This is the first Saturday night they’ve had to themselves in weeks; Cole spending the night at a friend’s. It’s hard to pencil in any sort of ‘alone time’ other than a quickie in the shower while there’s a nine year old running around the house. Lord knows their sex life could use some spicing up.

And this was Connor’s idea, even though now he feels sick to his stomach as much with nerves as he does excitement. He read online that role-playing was a good way to keep things fresh in the bedroom, and Hank was definitely not adverse to it when Connor suggested as much. (It went a little something like this:

“Hank I saw an article about sexual role-playing in the bedroom. Would you like to try it?”

Hank had choked on his coffee. “You _what_?”

“I read up on it and it seemed like an activity you might enjoy partaking in with me. For example,” Connor counted his fingers as he rattled off all the ideas he'd seen online, “Teacher and student, a doctor scenario, police officer— you can put those handcuffs to use—”

“Fuck, Con. You can’t just come out and say that, now I’m _thinking_ about it.” He dragged his hands down his face, making a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan of despair.

“Whoops.” Connor grinned impishly, not at all sorry. He moved into Hanks personal space, traced his fingers over the bulk of the older man’s biceps, breathed him in. “Our anniversary is coming up, and I thought it might be nice to try something different.”

Hank’s coffee sat forgotten as his hands had come up to hold Connor’s sides in a fierce grip. His voice was throaty with want. “At fucking 7:31 A.M. on a Thursday morning? You’re shameless.”

“You like it—”

“ _DADS!_ ”

“ _Shit—_ ”

“Where are my—” Cole stopped, scrutinized them, sounded suitably disgusted as he came to his own conclusions on his parents’ compromising positions. “Are you guys gonna _kiss_?”

Connor hastily said _'no'_ at the same time Hank said _'maybe'_ and wiggled his eyebrows. He pecked Connor on the cheek and told him, with feeling, under his breath, “We’ll talk about this later. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Cole ‘ _eww-ed’_ at them, Hank went to find whatever it was he was looking for, and Connor started to clean up the mess of breakfast. He’d also slipped Sumo some bacon scraps when no one was looking.  
They didn’t talk about it again until much later. When Cole and Sumo were sound asleep and they could have a very in depth, though quiet, discussion about it.

Which is how Connor arrived at his current situation.)

Hank doesn’t notice Connor sidle up to him, or rather, pretends not to notice. Connor swallows the lump in his throat. The booth is secluded and tucked away in the corner, but he still casts a quick glance around before talking, embarrassed that someone might be looking, listening to them.

“Lieutenant Anderson. My name is Connor. I’m the... android sent by CyberLife.” His voice is weak at best, nervous, but Connor swallows the lump in his throat and keeps on. He _wants_ to do this. “I looked for you at the station, but nobody knew where you were. They said you were probably having a drink nearby. I was lucky to find you at the fifth bar.”

Hank looks at him. Soft eyes, warm quirk of the lips, reassuring, and glad, before he sets down his whiskey. And then— it shocks Connor a little, how quickly he can become a different person. His face closed off and his voice gruff. (Connor vaguely wonders if it’s easier for him to play his role because policing is his job.) But the heat of anger is not entirely unattractive on him. “What do you want?”

Connor wants a lot of things: to do this and do it well, to please Hank, to make the most of this weekend while Cole isn’t home, to make this Anniversary memorable, _Hank._  
And in order to do those things, he makes himself forget, for a moment, that this is made up. Right now he’s Connor— the android sent by CyberLife. A machine designed to accomplish a task. And that task is talking Lieutenant Anderson (perfect strangers, now) out of the bar. Preferably _into his bed._ “You were assigned a case early this evening. A homicide, involving a CyberLife android. In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.”

Hank brushes him off with long drink of his whiskey, playing hardball. “Well I don’t need any assistance, ‘specially not from a plastic asshole like you. So just be a good lil' robot and get the fuck outta here.” Two can play hardball. Connor dogs Hank.

“Lieutenant Anderson, I must inform you that I intend to file a report on your behaviour.” Hank grunts and flips Connor off by way of answer.  
As he falls into the rhythm of the role-play, Connor steels his voice. It’s a contest to outdo each other and he’s determined to not be the one who cracks first. Connor talks into the shell of Hank’s ear, relishing in the way he shudders. “I'm sorry lieutenant, but I must insist. My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you.”

Hank turns so quickly they almost knock heads. He leans into Connor, all feverish words and strong body language. Hand sliding up to hold the collar of Connor’s white dress shirt. He shivers when Hank twists his hand into the fabric and tugs him and has to grab the edge of the booth to keep from falling into his lap. “You know where you can stick your instructions?”

“No...” He’s pulled to Hank like a moth to a flame. Practically straddling him where he sits, putty in Hanks hands, he feels like he’s going to melt. Connor lets his lips ghost over Hank’s, inches from kissing him, but not yet. “Where?”

Connor nearly moans when his shirt slips through the _Lieutenant’s_ fingers, and he turns back to his whiskey. Connor’s sure people must be looking at them by now, but he’s too far gone to care. As far as his present self is concerned, this is the single greatest idea he’s ever had, second only to this latest one to come to fruition:

He reaches out, taking Hanks whiskey and tipping it up on the table. The burnt-brown liquor pools on the table top. Connor wants Hank’s hands at his neck again. Make him mad— he wants Hank to _crack._ “I think we can go now.”

Hank surges up to meet Connor like a tidal wave, “You little shit! I don’t know what’s stopping me from fucking you up.”

“ _Nothing_.” Connor gasps. It takes all of his willpower not to let the needy little _‘please’_ building in his throat escape, too. When Hank’s hands grapple with his shirt. Presses a knee between his thighs. Connor clings to Hanks chest for dear life. _Fuck me up._

“That drink was expensive.” Voice a low growl, Hank continues, “How you gonna compensate me for spilling it?”

“ _However you want._ ”


	2. Boy, interrupted

They’re politely asked to leave Jimmy’s bar for ‘causing a scene’ at approximately 9:20 P.M.

On the curb in the biting winter cold Connor’s halfway between giddy hysterics and utter mortification as Hank waves down a cab, his other hand unashamedly wrapped around Connor’s waist.

“Oh _god,_ ” Connor laughs into Hank’s shoulder, “I can’t believe we actually got kicked out.”

The façade of _Lieutenant Hank Anderson_ fallen away, Hank’s grinning, not even mad, “ _You’re_ the one that tipped my drink.” He muses Connor’s hair.

“Hey— you were being difficult!” Connor protests, leans into the touch anyway. The wind is icy and Hank is exuding heat.

“Cold?” Hank pinches his waist.

“No,” Connor hums, pressing a kiss into his jaw and liking the way Hank’s beard grazes his lips. “I have a nice warm husband on hand.”

“Only using me for my body heat? You sure know how to make a guy feel loved.”

“I try.”

Hank opens the door of the cab for him when one pulls up and they tumble into the backseat like a couple of lovesick teenagers. His hand is on Connor’s thigh, drawing small circles with his thumb. Connor is hanging off his arm smiling and periodically placing soft kisses against his face. And the cabbie turns back, looking between them all wrapped up on each other with a weary expression because driving nights this must happen to him a lot.

“Let’s try to keep it PG back there. Where to, fellas?”

Connor pries himself away from Hank long enough to politely ask for, “115 Michigan Drive, please.”

They barely make it through the door (and remember to pay the driver) before Connor has his back against the wall, Hank popping the first couple of his shirt buttons, fabric sits loose around his shoulders, and gliding his lips over Connor’s collarbone. Connor digs his nails into the fabric of Hank’s uniform, his head hits the wall with a resounding thump when when he throws it back.

“ _Hank_ ,” he whines impatiently.

Connor feels Hank’s breath flutter against the space of skin where his shoulder meets his neck, chuckling, his hands coming up to cradle the back of his head. “That sounded pretty loud, ya okay Con?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m okay. _Keep going—_ I’ve been waiting for this since I walked into Jimmy’s, I—” Connor loses his words in a long drawn-out moan as Hank rolls his hips against him. Connor arches up into him, dizzy for it.

Hank snickers, and grabs his leg under the knee and hikes it up. Connor is breathless, Hank shivering under his hands as he drags his nails down the back of Hank’s shirt and presses their foreheads together. He can feel Hank’s breath is hot on his upper lip, smelling faintly of whiskey. Connor has trouble concentrating as he fumbles to meet Hank’s mouth.

“We should,” Connor pants hazily around kisses, “move— to the bedroom.”

“Yeah,” Hank makes a noise of agreement, dropping Connor’s leg, he talks against his mouth, but makes no move to act on it. “You go. I forgot to feed Sumo before we left.”

Connor slaps his ass playfully. “Don’t take too long.”

“Cheeky shit.”

He tosses a wink back at Hank before stumbling to their bedroom, unceremoniously throwing his debauched shirt to the floor before falling into the mattress. Hank enters soon after, he hears, he kicks the door shut behind him and collides with Connor in a in a mess of shallow gasps and eager hands.  
Even by the dullness of the kitchen light leaking into the room under the crack of the door Connor has no trouble finding his way around, knows Hanks body like the back of his hand. His fingers struggle only for a moment as he unbuttons Hanks DPD shirt and pushes it off his shoulders. Connor buries his face in the crook of his neck and lightly bites, hands travelling down to ghost over Hanks erection.

“Fucking tease.” He grunts, sending a spike of arousal shooting through Connor. “You were so pretty tonight, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to do _this._ ”

Connor’s breath catches when Hank’s hands slide into his slacks and he palms Connor’s crotch through his briefs. They haven’t been able to take their time with sex for _weeks_ , and Connor’s just “Hank— Jesus— _please,_ ” revelling in the feeling of Hanks hands on his body.

“Please, what?”

He wants Hank to give him everything, nothing, _something._ “ _Please_ , touch me _more_ ,” Connor babbles, he lifts his hips so Hank can drag his pants down his legs, thumbs the waistband off Hanks uniform trousers, breathing like he’s just run a marathon, the smell of sweat heightening his arousal, “Yours, too.”

He sees the dim outline of Hank sitting up to shuck his trousers off, the bed dips as Hank leans into the sheets beside him. And then Hank is laying kisses on him like he’s an object of worship, trailing down his stomach. He peels off Connor’s briefs, throwing them away somewhere, and Connor sighs contentedly at the sensation of hot breath tickling his inner thighs. He reaches down and winds his fingers into Hanks hair.

When Hank licks a stripe up his cock, swallows him, calloused hands holding his hips in a rough vice-grip, Connor’s eyes flutter closed and he hisses out a moan. Already, the heat of his orgasm is building in his gut. Connor’s fingers writhe against his scalp, hard to form coherent thoughts when Hank hollows his cheeks around him and his hands find their way to Connor’s ass. _“Hank! I’m—”_

Hank finishes him with a firm hand, and his orgasm pulled from him in a tumbling of Hank’s name, and _oh god_ falling from his open mouth. Laying there, tingly and breathless. He would feel embarrassed that he came so quickly where it not for the fact that he’s just enjoying basking in the afterglow while Hank presses open-mouth kisses against his hipbones.

Besides, they have all night.

“You good, Con?”

“ _Very._ ” He props himself up on his elbows, regarding the outline of Hank between his legs, erection tenting his boxers. Then sits up fully when he’s sure his lax muscles won’t give out on him.

Connor shimmies over to him and rests a hand on his thigh, pressing into him. It’s his favourite thing about Hank (and probably Hank’s least favourite thing about himself), his size, makes Connor feel safe, warm. It’d taken Hank a long time to come to terms with the fact that Connor actually found him attractive. But they’d gotten there, somehow. “Though I’d quite like to return the favour— I still haven’t paid you back for that drink _Lieutenant._ ”

“Well, shit, I can’t say no to that.”

Connor doesn’t take his eyes of Hank as he takes him out of his boxers, watching the contours of his face jump between expressions in the shade of the bedroom. His eyes screwing shut as Connor tongues his cock. Hank lets out a heady grunt and Connor hums around him. “ _Fuck—”_

He takes as much of Hank as he can, working him in a steady rhythm. He can hear Hank’s ragged breathing, his breathing, the thrumming of his blood, in his ears. Connor’s hand comes up to fondle his balls and Hank grits out something he doesn’t catch. A string of profanities as Connor’s lips sheathe his cock.

“Fuck—” Hands find their way to Connor’s shoulders, fingers gingerly gripping, nudging him away. He takes his mouth off Hank’s erection. “Ease up on an old man— I’m not as young as you. Once I’m finished, I’m finished.”

_“You’re not old!”_ Connor protests.

It elicits a snort from Hank, Connor can almost hear him rolling his eyes in his “Sure.”

“You’re…” He starts pushing his nose into the crook of Hank’s neck, lacing their fingers together. “ _Vintage_ ; like a fine wine. And even if you were the oldest man on earth, I’d still do you.”

Hank huffs out a small laugh. “Fuck, you’re strange.”

“You like it.” Connor reminds him. They share a kiss, long and gentle. And he pushes Hank onto his back, straddling him and reaching across him for the lube in the nightstand draw. Ordering Hank as he squirts a generous dollop into his hand, “Now sit back and let me make you feel young.”

Hank obliges him, watching in rapt silence as Connor works himself open with slick fingers, his head bowing to fall on Hanks carpeted chest. He gasps as Hank drags his fingers through his hair, thumbing the base of his neck, and Connor sinks down onto him.

“Fuck— Connor!” Hank cries. Connor holds Hank’s shoulders for leverage as he breathes out each inch entering him, burning up in the best of ways.

“That’s kind of the point, Hank.”

Connor gives his body a second to re-acclimatise itself with the feeling of _Hank_ , tender and unhurried, before attempting to move. Hank’s hands had settled on his sides at some point. He whispers sweet nothings to Connor, caressing.   
Conner feels hotter than the sun, hair all sweaty and clinging to his forehead, panting like nobody’s business. Hank just traces his fingers over Connor’s sides, enamoured with Connor’s dishevel as he slowly starts to rock against Hank, his peak climbing again.

The only sounds reaching his ears Hank’s grunts, his small breathy gasps, and the creak of the bedsprings. There’s else something, though, through the fog of arousal clouding his mind, he’s dimly aware of a phone— _his phone_ — ringing in the background.

“Hank— _phone_.”

“Leave it.”

Connor bites his lip, bracing himself against Hank. He wills the call to just go to voicemail, but whoever’s ringing isn’t contented with that. They keep ringing. “What if it’s important?”

“ _Okay._ ” Exasperated, Hank clicks one of the bedside lamps on and its warm orange glow lights up the room, and then, for good measure also swears at the caller. “For _shit’s_ sake,”

Connor wiggles out of his grip, ignoring the chill that nips at him from the loss of contact, fumbling through the discarded clothes for his phone that is in one of his pockets— he’s drunk on endorphins, just can’t remember which. It takes him a minute.

Phone procured, Connor sits on the edge of the bed beside a now upright Hank, answering, talking calmly into the receiver like he hadn’t just been getting dicked. His face is still flushed as anything, though. “Yes, this is Connor Anderson speaking.   
“Uh-huh,   
“I see.   
“We could—  
“Are you sure?  
“Okay, thank you.   
“Yes, we’ll see you soon, thank you.”

He turns to Hank, tossing his phone at the clothes strewn across the floor and climbing into his lap. “Cole’s not feeling well, so Liam’s mother kindly suggested she drop him home— but the good news is we still have ten minutes.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , you’re going to be the death of me, Con.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never written smut before, so be sure to let me know what you all liked/didn't like so I can improve.


	3. Quiet night in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cole is a smol bean

Connor is respectable when he answers the door to Liam’s mother, but barely. His hair still wet from hastily jumping in the shower with Hank, hot-faced and wearing a pair of old board shorts he found stuffed in the back of the closet after remembering that, yes, he did require pants to answer the door. Mercifully, Liam’s mother either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Connor is grateful for the fact.

“Thank you again.”

“It’s no trouble, really,” she has a kid clinging to each leg. Liam, and a decidedly green looking Cole. “He threw up about ten and hasn’t felt like eating since, but I made sure he had some water.”

Hank appears behind Connor, still towelling his hair dry, nods politely at Liam’s mother and talks to Cole. “Hey Bean, how ya feeling?”

“Gonna barf,” Cole says miserably, coming over the threshold to be enveloped in Hanks arms. Connor absently ruffles his hair as he passes.

“Thanks, uh, I’ll get him sorted.” Hanks already ushering Cole down the hall. Connor says his goodbyes to Liam and his mother, they hope that Cole will feel well enough for school on Monday, and dismiss his thanks for the umpteenth time. He closes the door softly behind him when they’re down the porch steps and climbing into their car. He finds Hank and Cole in Cole’s room.

“Ready for bed, Bean?” Hank is helping him out of his puke-y clothes and into clean pyjamas.

Cole shakes his head, sniffling. “I feel yuck.”

“You gonna be sick again?”

He shrugs.

“Alright, c’mon then.”

They sit on the couch (Cole in the middle with a bucket, in case he can’t make it to the bathroom on time, and a cup of water) and watch a quiet movie until he slides sideways and falls asleep between them, with his head against Connor’s thigh and his feet in Hank’s lap. Hank makes a face to Connor over his feet. Connor moves the cup of water before it gets spilt.  
Once Cole is gently woken and, still sleepy, tucked into bed, he and Hank go to bed themselves. Connor sheds the board shorts and climbs under the covers.

“Everything okay, Con? You’ve been kinda quiet.”

“Yeah…” Connor mumbles, “I just wanted our anniversary to be special… it didn’t exactly go to plan.”

Hank threads their fingers together under the covers, clicking his lamp off with his other hand and shuffling closer. “Shit happens. S’not your fault.”

Connor makes a non-committal sound.

“’Sides everything’s special when it’s with you. That’s why we’re married— _hey,_  don’t laugh at me, you prick.”

“Sorry— sorry— I’m not laughing I promise, I’m just… happy.” He presses into Hanks warmth, tangling their legs together. _Very happy._ “Goodnight, Hank.”

“G’night.”


End file.
